


Cornucopia

by Ayabelle (lea_hazel)



Category: Collar of the Damned, Original Work
Genre: Alienation, Backstory, Character Study, Cynicism, Gen, Missing Scene, Setting as Character, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/Ayabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The banner of Brighthaven makes four memorable appearances at different points in Aya's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornucopia

When he first sighted the Golden Road in the distance, Jaylen was elated.

“Finally, out journey is back on course,” he said. “Luck is turning in our favor again.”

Aya and Braugan exchanged a dubious look. They were tired and sore, low on supplies and without any reliable means of transport. The road would make travel easier, that was true, but it would also make them more conspicuous. A small boat traveling downstream on the Malyn river was no unusual sight, but three people traveling the King's road with no horses or barrow were bound to stir curiosity, at the very least. To reach Brighthaven safely, they must approach unnoticed.

“Jay,” said Brag cautiously, “are you certain about this?”

“Hmm?” Jaylen was distracted, gazing past the fallow field before them to the line of trees that separated them from the road.

“Are you quite sure,” said Brag again, “that this is the direction we should take?”

“Of course!” he answered cheerfully. “I know the map like my birth star, this is definitely the Golden Road. It leads directly to Brighthaven. We'll reach the city in no time at all.”

Aya sighed softly.

“But do you think it's quite safe?” asked Brag persistently.

Jaylen detached his eyes from the distant horizon and regarded him for a moment. “We'll approach cautiously, of course,” he said, “but I have no doubt that traveling by road is far safer than tramping through the unmapped dirt paths of the countryside. If we take the backways we risk getting lost, but there's simply no way to follow the King's road and not reach the capital.”

Braugan nodded, satisfied.

So it was that they left behind the fields of Greatmeade and stepped onto the road to the city. Jaylen was right: the paved stone road was marked with a curled yellow symbol, crudely drawn in chalk.

“The symbol of Brighthaven,” said Jaylen to Braugan, “a golden cornucopia.”

Aya, of course, had seen it before.

 

* * *

 

She had made shore on a deserted beach of crumbling yellow sand, stretching far as the eye could see, both east and west. Salt wind buffeted her back, driving her away from the foreboding gray waves crashing behind her. One foot after the other, she stepped out of the lapping wavelets and felt dry sand cling to her wet feet.

All her thoughts and hopes and dreams had directed her here. For months this was all she could think of, working and fighting to reach this place. Now that she had finally reached it she had no idea what to do next.

She walked.

Her feet soon became sore with the effort of keeping balance on a ground that shifted under every step. One foot after the other, she followed the curls and curves of the coastline towards the horizon, a blurry ribbon of blue, too distant to make out. When her feet would no longer carry her she dropped to the ground and slept restlessly. Her dreams troubled her, as did the dull roar of the sea, too near to forget.

She walked without counting the days, only measuring them in steps toward the reddening evening sky.

The first strange voices she heard caught her by surprise. After days and days of hearing nothing but the waves and the wind, not even the sound of her own voice, she could be forgiven for thinking her mind was playing tricks on her. She stopped short when she realized she had not spoken since before she made shore. There had been no one to speak to, and for a few moments she wondered whether she still could. Would her throat rasp, and the words come out rough as sandpaper?

Voices carried far over the featureless beach. It was most of a day and a night before she could see their owners, but she kept walking through her exhaustion. She couldn't bear to stop and rest now, not so close to a destination. Any destination. Before the sun was up on the next day she could see houses built on stilts like skinny insect legs, and small boats with furled sails. As she grew nearer she noticed the men walking from one to the other in the pale grey pre-dawn. Fishermen, making ready to take their boats to sea.

She watched silently from a distance as the boats set out. She was so engrossed in observing this simple, everyday act that it was some time before she noticed that someone was speaking to her. A loud bark finally caught her attention. She was being questioned vigorously by a fat fishwife in an apron, a floppy-eared dog at her heels. The jumble of talking and barking flew past her ears while she tried to focus on the words they formed.

“Hey, stranger,” said the woman, her fists propped against her hips. “Where'n you going?”

She looked rather like an etching in a child's storybook.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbled.

“Well,” said the woman, wrinkling her nose. “Mind you don't stay here. They want your kind up'n the city.” She gestured vaguely westward with her arm.

“City,” she repeated, feeling dull and foolish.

The woman drew her eyebrows close. “Yeah, city of Brighthaven. Up'n that way.”

Her eyes followed the pointing finger to a sign mounted on a wooden post. A banner was stretched and nailed over it, quartered red and blue, with a bright curl like a conch in its center. Behind it stretched a road, a real road paved with stones, however cracked or lurching, not a trampled path.

“Brighthaven,” she said, looking up to the horizon above the curling road. It was marked jaggedly with the outline of many walls.

“Yeah,” said the fishwife. “Go up'n the road where they take your kind, and be off with you.”

She didn't mind. Turning away from the stranger and her unkind words, she stepped onto the road to make her way to Brighthaven, the city of the golden conch.

 

* * *

 

Their first approach to the city did not go well, to say the least. It was a long while before they saw its walls again, the quartered insignia painted on wood, etched into stone, emblazoned on the coats of the city men. The Bloody Duke's men no longer wore the city's colors, but marched under his personal banner, lest anyone forget who held the power in this land. The sight of his white-starred crest, which struck fear into every heart, inspired only anger and disgust in Jaylen.

Aya did not mind it, as such. She of course objected to being drawn and quartered, as she greatly valued her life. She objected also to Brag or the others meeting a similar fate. Noriel's wings would be cut from her back, and that would be a travesty. All Greer really wanted was a home, a farm and a family. And Braugan... who knew what he wanted? She had no desire to see Braugan dead. The fact that this meant the Duke Vivianti's death was happenstance.

All through their long journey across the foothills, though they were tired and sore, and oftentimes hungry, their spirits were high. Nori would often whistle as she walked, now and then humming a fragment of a cloudling marching tune. In the evenings they would sit together around the campfire, waxing philosophical about the stingy supper fare. Aya's stomach had long stopped grumbling. Life on the road was not so bad, as long as they could put their mission out of mind. As the land around them mellowed, this task became much harder to accomplish.

Leaving behind the hills of Elwyn, they could see the meades of Vivia stretching before them. Much like the land they'd left behind farther north, it was striped with unplowed fields and dotted with half-empty villages. At each abandoned farmhouse they passed Jaylen's face blossomed into a scowl, and Braugan assumed a blank face and a stony silence. The general mood of their company soured accordingly. By the time the city walls were within their sight morale was at an all-time low. Even Noriel struggled to maintain proper military equanimity.

A dread crawled into Aya's chest, slinking down to settle deep in the pit of her stomach. If their prince could not maintain composure at the sight of his enemy's insignia, what would he do when he faced the man himself? Their plan hinged on his ability as an archer. He could only aim true if he remained calm and collected. She dared not speak to him on the matter for fear of rattling him even more. The signpost, therefore, was a welcome distraction.

Wooden signposts were planted at intervals all along the dirt road they had followed, marking the distance for the benefit of farmers coming into the city market. Many of these signs were burnt or broken, and others had been deliberately defaced, the red and blue city banner ripped to tatters and the Duke's flag nailed over it. Every time they passed a vandalized signpost, Jaylen seethed for hours. This was the first sign they had spotted that was unmarred.

The bright gold of the device could not withstand the elements, and had taken on a murky brownish color. Yet it was unmistakable, a large horn curled on itself, its round mouth wide open to receive the wealth of the land. Jaylen stared at it for a long time while the daylight failed. Around him the evening camp started to take shape. Nori sang softly under her breath as she built the campfire.

When the prince finally joined them around the fire, he said only, “We're going to win this war.”

No one thought to question his certainty, not even her.

 

* * *

 

The clatter of hooves echoing through the vast marble hall joined seamlessly with her own blood pounding in her ears. Aya dropped heavily to sit on the steps, disregarding the throne that stood behind them. They were carpeted with some impossibly soft fabric, like the fur of a spoiled lady's cat. After three days of fighting with almost no sleep, she would have thought she could hold up for another hour or two. Not so; her head drooped, and her limbs were so heavy she doubted she could lift an arm, let alone her axe.

Dimly she could hear her name being called, and she thought wearily of raising her head to answer. She felt a jab in her ribs and half-turned her head, an economical movement. Omi was poking her with the butt of her pike. She groaned, obliging enough to raise her eyes to the room.

“You're missing all the fun,” said Omi.

“Yes,” said Aya, “clearing out the bodies should be great fun.”

Omi jabbed her pike again, but in a different direction. “Look behind you.”

Rallying what felt like the last of her strength, Aya braced herself against the stone steps and turned. Behind and above her was the throne of Brighthaven, a monument of polished rose marble and spotless white silk. The words 'Tara Vivia' were carved into it in huge, ornate block letters. She rubbed her eyes. What was Greer doing up there? She watched as he climbed atop it, heedless of his hooves trampling the white silk seat. He thrust his spear at the wall, tearing at the cloth that covered it. The heavy black velvet resisted, but eventually ripped and slumped gracelessly to the floor.

Greer climbed back down, a satisfied grin spreading on his face. On his way down the steps he kicked the fallen banner for good measure.

With the sign of the conqueror fallen, the wall beneath was bared for all to see. A mosaic built of hundreds of shining fragments, sheafs of grain and baskets of fruit crowded around a central device; the four-cornered badge was shaped with lapis and carnelian, and the horn at its center, with pure gold.  


End file.
